Untitled
by bohemian21
Summary: PostRENT: Mark's been keeping something from Roger, and he can't hide it any longer... Mark and Roger but not MarkRoger, at least not now.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own RENT. The characters belong to the late, great Jonathan Larson.  
**A/N:** I'm having trouble coming up with a title for this...if you've got any ideas, let me know! And please review... feedback is love. 3

The sound of the door to the loft opening made Roger look up from his guitar, although he continued to play. When he saw Mark stagger through the door, his shirt soaked in blood, he dropped his guitar and rushed over to his best friend. Helping Mark to the couch, Roger asked, "What the hell happened to you?"

"I was jumped," Mark wheezed. "I wouldn't give up my camera, so they stabbed me."

Roger lifted the edge of Mark's shirt to look at the wound. "You need to get to the hospital. I'm calling the paramedics." Mark merely nodded, knowing that it was futile to argue with him. Mark sat back on the couch, trying to keep his composure despite the pain. He heard Roger on the phone, giving the paramedics the information they needed. Mark closed his eyes, knowing that there was one piece of information that they would need that Roger didn't have.

When Roger hung up the phone, he rushed over to the couch, and held Mark as close as he could without causing him more pain. When the paramedics arrived a few moments later, Roger stepped aside so they could work, but still held Mark's hand. It was cold, and Mark was trembling.

The paramedics checked Mark over, got him onto a gurney, and reviewed the short medical history Roger had given them over the phone. One paramedic stood over Mark, with a pen poised. "Is there anything you need to add to your medical history?"

"Yes," Mark said, glancing up into Roger's clear green eyes. "I have HIV."


	2. Chapter 2

Here's Chapter 2... This is dedicated to sonsofpitchesfangirl, Leondra, and Jacinda for reviewing Chapter 1! Thanks, guys. :)

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Mark heard Roger's sharp intake of breath, and saw his green eyes darken for a moment. Fortunately, he didn't say anything right then. He merely squeezed Mark's hand and offered him a gentle smile. He sat beside Mark in the ambulance, holding his hand, and murmuring words of reassurance.

Roger stayed at Mark's side until the doctors in the emergency room forced him out. "I'll be back as soon as I can, Mark. I promise," Roger said, as the nurse practically threw him out the door.

Mark sighed. He had hoped that this moment would never come. _Unless I got AIDS before him_, the nagging little voice in the back of Mark's head reminded him. The doctor stuck his arm with an IV, and the pain caused Mark to wince and snap back to the moment at hand.

"Mr. Cohen, fortunately your wound is not too serious. We'll stitch it up for you, and we'll keep you here overnight for observation, just to make sure you don't develop an infection. I don't think you will – you're remarkably healthy – but it's standard procedure for patients with HIV." The doctor spoke without actually looking Mark in the face. Mark had gotten used to it, ever since he was diagnosed.

Another doctor came in, and added some medication to Mark's IV. "I'm just going to give you a local anesthetic, and stitch up your wound. You shouldn't feel anything." Mark nodded. He winced at the injection of the anesthetic, and then nodded off, asleep.

The sound of the doctor's voice woke Mark. "Mr. Cohen? You're all stitched up. Twelve stitches took care of it." The doctor smiled. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Yeah," Mark nodded, "A friend of mine came in with me, but was sent out when the doctor started to examine me. His name's Roger Davis…"

"I'll find him for you." The doctor cut him off before she strode out of the room.

"Thank you," Mark called after her, knowing his words were unheard.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I know the last chapter was kind of slow moving, but I promise we're getting to the good part soon! As always, reviews are love.

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Roger's face was a mask of concern when he walked through the door. Mark braced, anticipating what was coming next. Roger rushed to his side and took his hand. "Are you alright?"

Mark nodded, and hoped that he managed to mask his surprise that Roger's words weren't what he expected. "Yeah, I'm okay. Some antibiotics, some pain meds, twelve stitches, and a night in the hospital for observation."

Roger squeezed Mark's hand. "Good. I was worried about you. But next time, Mark, just give up the camera. It can be replaced. You can't."

Mark managed a weak smile. "It's as much a part of me as my right arm. I couldn't just let it go… Imagine if they tried to take your guitar."

Roger nodded. "I guess I see your point." Mark tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. Roger pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and sat down, never letting go of Mark's hand. "Get some sleep, Marky. I'll be here when you wake up." Roger settled into the chair and squeezed Mark's hand. The last thing Mark saw before he fell asleep was Roger carefully removing his glasses and setting them on the bedside table. Roger watched over Mark's sleeping form before dozing off himself.

* * *

Mark awoke mildly disoriented. He glanced around, getting a blurry glimpse of his surroundings, and realized that he was in the hospital. Roger was sitting beside the bed, snoring softly, still with a death grip on Mark's hand. It was almost as if he was afraid Mark was going to disappear if he let go. Mark attempted to roll over and grab his glasses, but a sudden stab of pain in his side caused him to cry out. Roger jumped as if he had heard a gunshot. "Are you okay?" Mark had never seen Roger so concerned about anything.

Mark nodded, still gritting his teeth with the pain. "I'm all right. I just forgot what had happened, and was reaching for my glasses." Roger picked them up and handed them to Mark. "Thanks, Rog. For everything."

"Don't sweat it. I know you'd do the same for me." Roger smiled, almost sadly. He sighed deeply. "Mark, you know I have to ask…"

"How'd I get HIV?" Roger nodded, and looked mildly embarrassed. "I knew this moment would eventually come, no matter how much I wished it wouldn't. I'm going to start at the beginning – please don't interrupt. I know you know most of the story, and you're going to think it's irrelevant, but I promise you it's not. Just listen."

Mark sighed, and started the story he'd rehearsed so many times, knowing that this day was coming.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Here's Chapter 4...enjoy! Most of the chapter is a flashback, in italics. Again, and as always, reviews are love.

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Mark took a deep breath. "It was about 3 years ago. A couple of months after April died." Roger winced slightly at the mention of her name. "You weren't doing so well…" 

_Mark sat on the couch in the loft, staring at the door to Roger's room. He needed to do something. He couldn't let Roger go on killing himself like this. They'd just lost April. Maureen had moved out. Collins was teaching at MIT. Benny had moved in with Alison. Roger didn't have anyone but Mark to help him. Mark sighed and walked over to the door. "Rog?" He knocked twice before opening the door. Roger was passed out on the bed; fresh track marks on his arms, and fresh tear stains on his face. Mark pulled the blanket up over Roger's sleeping form, vowing to talk to him when he woke up._

_A few hours later, Mark heard Roger stirring. He decided to take this opportunity, knowing that Roger was at his most lucid just after waking up. He wouldn't be high, and he wouldn't be shaking from withdrawal. Again, Mark knocked twice and opened the door. "Roger, we need to talk."_

_For a moment, a bit of the old Roger shone through. "Are you breaking up with me, Mark?"_

_Mark smiled, enjoying that all-too-rare demonstration of Roger's sense of humor. "No, Rog, you're not getting rid of me that easily. Sit down." Mark gestured to the bed, sitting down himself. "I'm worried about you. You've got to start taking better care of yourself. You need to start taking your AZT, and you need to get off the heroin." Mark reached out and touched Roger's arm gently. "I can see if we can get enough money together to get you into rehab, but it'll be tough."_

_Roger shook his head, not looking at Mark, tears gently falling down his face. "I can't take your money, Mark. I've made my bed, now I have to lie in it. I've got to do this on my own."_

_Mark reached out and raised Roger's head in order to look into his eyes. "You're not alone, Roger, I'll be here every step of the way." Mark had never seen Roger look so helpless. He wrapped his arms around him into a tight hug. "No matter what, I'll be here for you. You're my best friend – my brother. I wouldn't know what to do without you. I've been going crazy enough without hearing 'Musetta's Waltz' 73 times every day." The mention of the song made Roger crack a watery smile._

_"I'm scared, Mark. I've seen what withdrawal can do."_

_"You've also seen what addiction can do, Roger. I won't let you end up like that."_


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Drumroll, please...the moment you've all been waiting for! As in the last chapter, italics flashback. FYI, this is _not_ the end of the story, just in case you were worried. The entire story emerged from the image of the last paragraph of this chapter. I hope I haven't disappointed anyone. I've said this every chapter so far (so why quit now?): reviews arelove.

Also, I don't know much about heroin addiction/withdrawal/recovery, so I have no idea how valid my timeline is. I just kind of made it up. Apologies if i screwed it up too badly.

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A nurse walked in to check on Mark, snapping both him and Roger back to the present. The look on Roger's face said that he was obviously confused as to how him getting clean had anything to do with Mark having HIV. The nurse left just as suddenly as she had appeared, and Mark coughed before continuing.

**

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**

_Roger hadn't had a hit in a little over a month. Mark was at his wit's end, trying to keep him calm, and help him through the pain, the sweats, and all of the other things that came from quitting heroin cold turkey after more than a year of steady use. For the most part, Roger stayed in the loft. This made it easier for Mark – he knew that there was no heroin in the loft, and no one to bring him any. Mark's job became making sure Roger ate, and making sure that he took his AZT on time. Whenever Roger complained, Mark made it abundantly clear that he had no choice in the matter. Mark had promised to see him through this, and he was going to, no matter what._

_Roger was in his room. As was his habit, Mark knocked twice before opening the door. "Rog? I've got to run to the store for some food, and your AZT. Is there anything you want me to get?"_

_Roger turned around to face Mark. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked pale. His hands were shaking. Mark frowned slightly. "The only thing I want, Mark, you're not going to give me."_

_Mark crossed his arms in front of his chest and nodded. "You've got that right. I'll be back a bit later." He walked away without closing the door. Roger sat on his bed and watched Mark wind his scarf around his neck before leaving. Roger walked out to the fire escape, and watched Mark walk down the street. Once Mark disappeared around the corner, Roger grabbed his leather jacket and walked out of the loft._

_Mark returned to the loft with a couple of bags of groceries. He put them on the table before walking into Roger's room. "Roger!" Mark shouted when he saw his roommate. Roger clearly had been to visit his dealer in Mark's absence. Mark found him with the needle stuck in a vein in his forearm, although the heroin was still in the syringe. Roger's hands were shaking, and Mark couldn't tell if it was because of the withdrawal, or if Roger was having second thoughts._

_"Roger, come on." Mark hoped that his voice sounded as calm as he wanted it to. "Give me the needle, Roger. You haven't come this far just to give up now." Roger looked up at Mark, his eyes hard, his hands still shaking. "Roger, please. You don't want to do this. Give me the needle." Mark reached out his hand._

_Roger took a deep breath, and gave Mark a look so filled with hatred that it pained Mark to see it. "You want the fucking needle that bad, Mark? Here you go." With that, Roger took the needle out of his vein and stuck it into Mark's outstretched forearm._


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry it's been so long! Time just got away from me with the holidays and all. So here's your update. Enjoy! PS: reviews are love.

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Mark sighed, and let the reality of his words sink in for Roger. Clearly, they had, because Roger's green eyes were filled with tears and threatening to spill over. He looked as if someone had just slapped him. Mark knew him well enough to see that there were a million thoughts racing through his head, and Mark was sure that Roger had a lot to say right now. Fortunately, he was keeping his word, and keeping quiet until Mark had finished his story.

"I went into the bathroom, cleaned off the wound, and bandaged it up. I washed the heroin down the drain, and threw the syringe away. You had curled up on the bed, and cried yourself to sleep. I figured I'd talk to you in the morning about what happened. It was obvious the next morning that you didn't remember what had happened the night before."

Mark looked up at the ceiling, not wanting to look at Roger. "I went a few weeks later to get tested. When the results came, I just didn't know how to tell you. I just hoped you wouldn't notice that I was all of a sudden coming home with twice as much AZT as normal, and that money was tighter than ever."

Mark sighed, and hoped that he would be able to finish his story without crying. "I was so worried about you, Roger. I didn't think you could handle me telling you what had happened. I was afraid that you'd decide you were better off dead, and I'd come home to find you…" Mark let his sentence trail off, knowing Roger understood him. "I'm sorry."

* * *

Roger looked at Mark incredulously, no longer able to stay silent. "_You're_ sorry! You shouldn't be sorry. You should hate me! You did nothing but take care of me through everything, and I repaid you by ruining your life. By handing you a fucking death sentence!" Roger was sobbing, looking at Mark with equal parts anger and love.

Mark looked up at Roger; unable to hold the tears back any longer. "I could never hate you, Roger, you know that. I know that you didn't do it on purpose. You were going through withdrawal, and you were still grieving. April's death messed you up just as much as the heroin did. I said I would be there for you no matter what, and I was. I am."

"I don't remember." Roger said in a whisper so soft Mark could barely hear it. "I knew that there were a lot of memories missing, but I never thought I could do something like that. Believe me, Mark, I never knew that I hurt you. I never knew that there was even the slightest possibility that I made you sick. My God, Mark… I don't even know what to say."

Roger began to cry again. He laid his head on the bed, and cried harder than he had in years, harder even than when he found April. Mark gently stroked Roger's head, crying himself. He knew that telling Roger would be difficult, but he hadn't realized how little he'd dealt with it. He continued to stroke Roger's hair gently, until the other man's breathing had evened out and he was snoring softly. Mark began to cry harder, until he eventually followed Roger's lead and cried himself to sleep.


End file.
